My son had two of his teeth pulled today. We went to the oral surgeon's office very early in the morning for our appointment. I mean my son's appointment. Dr. Krey explained the procedure and offered my son two options -- Novocaine after the numbing gel was applied, or laughing gas plus Novocaine after the numbing gel. He chose the latter, not because he was so nervous about the extractions, but because his cousin Alex had told him how much he liked laughing gas. Then the doctor nonchalantly mentioned to my son that he could invite me to come along, or I could wait in the lobby. "She can come with me, " he said, just as nonchalantly. I was touched and bummed out at the same time. I had brought a book and was hoping to get to read some of it. But my child said he wanted me to be there with him, so that is what I had to do. Even if it meant watching him get his injections of anesthetic, and seeing them yank his teeth out with pliers. "You might hear a scrunching noise," the doctor said cheerfully as he wrenched the baby teeth out, roots extending to quadruple the size of the exposed tooth. Through all of this, I sat, clenching my hands together, fighting the urge to reach over and hold my son's hand. He had asked me to be there, but he was not reaching out for me, he was not looking over at me nervously ... heck, he was not even looking anywhere near me. He was staring up into the overhead lights, probably at the plastic pterodactyl head that was hanging from the ceiling. So I clasped my hands, the right hand strangling the left as I fought to keep myself from reaching over to him. It's hard to be a mother from a safe distance, when you really want to treat your nearly pre-teen "baby" like a baby and just wrap him up in your arms.
This was pretty torturous -- for me. Next time, I'm going to ask for the laughing gas, too.
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